


Your Little Burdens

by kjack89



Series: Graceland Reincarnation AU [2]
Category: Graceland (TV), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Enjolras!Mike, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mike realizes that if Enjolras and Grantaire were reincarnated, it stands to reason that their friends were reincarnated, too. And naturally, that means he has to try to find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Little Burdens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Illyse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyse/gifts).



> Brief continuation of 'Your Lies are Your Life'. Since that fic was started before the end of Season 1, Briggs is not present and Mike never left Graceland. 
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I don't own anything.

“Mikey!” Mike groaned and rolled over to bury his face in Grantaire’s neck, trying to ignore Johnny’s insistent pounding on his bedroom door. “Mikey, c’mon, man!”

Grantaire stirred and groaned as well. “Whatever case you’re working on, I fucking hate it,” he mumbled sleepily. “No one should be up this early, for fuck’s sake. Especially me, who’s functionally unemployed at the moment.”

Mike managed a weak laugh and kissed Grantaire’s temple. “To be fair, you’re still pulling in your CIA paycheck, and that’s all that matters.” He sighed heavily and sat up. “It’s a cartel case, by the way.”

“Another one?” Grantaire grumbled, rolling over to curl up in the warmth left by Mike’s body. “How many damn cartels are there, anyway?”

Before Mike could answer, it was Charlie’s turn to pound on the door. “Levi!” she called. “Get your ass out here or I’m coming in, and I don’t care if you’ve got clothes on or not!”

Mike sighed and kissed Grantaire’s cheek. “Duty calls,” he said cheerfully, and slipped outside, where both Charlie and Johnny were waiting for him, sporting identical grins. “Oh, don’t even,” Mike said good-naturedly, though he grinned as well.

Things had been going really well between him and Grantaire since Grantaire had come back. They had both accepted and come to terms with everything that had happened between them, in this life and their past life. Mike had also gotten better at accepting the parts of him that were still Enjolras, and no longer felt at war with himself. And Grantaire…well, he had never really struggled with that as much as Mike had; what he was struggling with most now was boredom, since the CIA still hadn’t given him a new assignment beyond keeping a low profile at Graceland.

But right now, Mike had to wipe the stupid grin that he got while thinking about Grantaire off of his face because he had work to do. They were closing in on one of the cartel’s main contacts in the city, and if Mike played his cards right, he would be bringing him in today. So he rolled his eyes as Johnny made kissing noises at him and asked, “Come on, what are you two waiting for?”

* * *

 

Not even five hours later, Mike was whistling as he headed towards the interrogation room to watch the questioning of the cartel contact. It had been a smooth pickup, and if his day kept looking up, he would be home in no time to relax with Grantaire. He opened the door to the observation room and grinned at Johnny. “Charlie questioning him?”

“See for yourself,” Johnny said, nodding towards the two-way mirror. “The dude’s being cagey with everything, though. Won’t even tell her his name, as if we haven’t been fed everything by you.”

Mike shrugged. “At least my cover’s not blown.” He flipped open the file. “Yeah, we’ve got basically everything besides him admitting to Charlie that he’s working with the cartel. His name is Monty, by the way.”

Johnny snorted. “What, like Monty Python?”

“Probably short for something,” Mike mused, his eyes going glassy as he stared off into space, a name hovering just at the edge of his memory. “Like…Montparnasse.”

As soon as he said the name, a flood of images followed, clearly people he had known as Enjolras, and for a moment, he swayed in spot, ashen-faced, trying to make sense of the sudden surge of memories, picturing the swarthy, handsome man that he had vaguely known, or at the least known of back in the 1800s, sitting across from Charlie.

Then he blinked, and the perp Charlie was questioning swam back into view, looking absolutely nothing like Montparnasse. Johnny was waving his face in front of Mike’s face. “Yo, man, are you with me?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, sorry,” Mike said, gripping the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Sorry. I just, uh, zoned out for a moment there.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Something about this Montparnasse?”

Mike shook his head. “Yeah. I mean, no. Montparnasse is…was…someone that I used to know. Nothing to do with this Monty, I promise you that.”

Though Johnny was still looking at Mike like he was liable to collapse at any moment, he shrugged and took a step back from him. “If you say so, man. Just get your head on straight, a’ight?”

Mike nodded, though his mind was still far away. Not on Montparnasse, this time, but on Grantaire. He needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

* * *

 

Which was exactly why, as soon as he got home, Mike grabbed Grantaire by the arm and dragged him into the bedroom. “What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked, clearly concerned.

Mike paused and took a deep breath, trying to align his swirling thoughts. “For a moment today, I thought our perp was Montparnasse.”

“Montpar—Oh.” Grantaire went very still, his eyes wide. “You thought that he might have been reincarnated as well?”

Shrugging, Mike ran a hand through his hair. “Well, if you and I were reincarnated, it stands to reason that others might have been, right? And, granted, this guy wasn’t Montparnasse, but still…”

Grantaire nodded, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. “But you’re not referring to Montparnasse, are you? You want to know if our friends got reincarnated, if Les Amis were reincarnated.”

Mike shrugged again, a little helplessly. “I don’t…Enjolras’s memories of them aren’t quite as clear, or rather, they belong more to some of the stuff that I’ve tried to detach from a bit, the anti-authoritarianism and the more revolutionary stuff that doesn’t fit very well with, you know, me, but…they were important to him. Which stands to reason that they’d be important to me.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow and Mike elaborated, “At least,  _you_  were important to Enjolras, and, well,  _you’re_  important to me, so…”

Though Grantaire’s expression softened a little at that, it remained mostly guarded. “So I assume you want to somehow look for them, right? Have you given any thought to how you might go about doing that?”

“No,” Mike admitted. “You sort of wandered into my life on accident, after all, so I have no idea how to find seven other people.”

Grantaire frowned deeply. “So your plan is just to, what, start trekking across the globe in search of seven people who may only bear slight resemblance to their 1832 counterparts? Do you have any thought on where you’re going to start? Who you want to look for first? Hell, do you even remember what they look like?”

A muscle worked in Mike’s jaw and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And what would you suggest I do?” he asked coolly. “Stay here and do nothing? Because you’ve got plenty of experience doing that.”

Grantaire’s eyes flashed. “For fuck’s sake, Enjolras, it has nothing to do with that! I’m concerned that you’re going to drive yourself crazy trying to find seven people who may not even want to be found!”

They both glared at each for a moment before Mike asked quietly, completely changing the subject, “Is there a reason you only call me Enjolras when we’re fighting?”

“Probably because you’re most like him when we’re fighting,” Grantaire said tiredly, though he managed a small smile. “And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” He sighed. “Regardless, what if they don’t remember you? I only remembered you because, well, because Enjolras was the most important thing to Grantaire, the one thing he’d remember most of all. Can you say the same for them?”

“But don’t I still have to try?” Mike shot back. “Don’t I still have to at least try?”

Grantaire threw his hands up in the air. “Then we’re back to the same question as before! How? How do you intend on doing that?”

Mike growled low in his throat with frustration. “I don’t know, but—”

Before he could continue, there was a knock on the door, and Johnny poked his head into the room, raising an eyebrow at Mike and Grantaire, who were standing mere inches apart. “Are you fighting?” he asked, frowning slightly. “Because you know the house’s policy on your domestic spats…”

Mike rolled his eyes, far too familiar with the house’s policy on his and Grantaire’s bickering — they had a ‘Mike & R Squabble’ jar for that very purpose, and every time they fought, they each had to pay a dollar (it hadn’t done much to curb their fighting but had at least purchased a few cases of beer) — but before he could say anything, Grantaire took a step back from Mike and said quietly, “We weren’t fighting. Mike was just…talking about finding another guy.”

Johnny turned to glare at Mike. “Are you breaking up with R?”

"What, no! Nothing like that!" Mike glared at Grantaire, who glared right back at him. Mike sighed and turned back to Johnny. "R and I are  _not_ breaking up. I’m looking for someone in addition to R—”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mike knew he had said the wrong thing, and went bright red at the look on both Grantaire and Johnny’s faces. While Grantaire tried not to laugh out loud, Johnny crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked insulted. “Dude, you would go trying to find another dude when you have the best thing right in front of you?”

Mike and Grantaire exchanged glances and Grantaire said, uncharacteristically gentle, clearly touched by Johnny’s words, “Well, thanks, Johnny, I—”

"Me!" Johnny exclaimed. "You have me, right here, man. If you wanted to spice things up, why would you not consider a little Latin flavor?" He glared at both Mike and Grantaire and shrugged dramatically. "Y’all are racists, I swear."

He stomped out of the room, leaving Mike and Grantaire staring after him with identical looks of shock on their faces. Mike cleared his throat. “Well, uh, that was, um—”

"Shh," Grantaire commanded, closing his eyes. "I’m committing this moment to memory, so in five years time I can be like, ‘Hey, remember that time Johnny awkwardly propositioned us for a threesome?’"

Mike let out a snort and pulled Grantaire closer to kiss him. “You know I don’t need a threesome,” he said quietly. “You’re the only man I need.”

Grantaire kissed him back before asking concernedly, “But which one of us is going to have to tell Johnny that?”

For a moment, they both laughed, the tension between them disappearing completely. But then Mike’s expression sobered, and he said softly, “I have to do this. I have to know if they’re out there. They were my friends, and after everything we went through together…”

Though Grantaire frowned, he also nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But you  _can’t_  go. You have the FBI to think about, a job to do here.” He paused, squared his shoulder, and lifted his chin as he told Mike, “I’ll go.”

“You?” Mike asked, surprised.

Grantaire half-smiled as he told him, “They were my friends, too, after all. Besides, I can use what connections and resources I still have at the CIA, which is admittedly better than what I normally do all day.”

Mike smiled as well. “That is a good point,” he admitted. “Especially since I have no clue what you actually do all day while the rest of us are out catching bad guys, putting our lives on the line, doing important things.”

“Well, sometimes,” Grantaire started, sliding his hand up Mike’s bicep while his voice lowered seductively, “sometimes when it’s just me, by my lonesome in the house I take off all of my clothes—” Mike’s adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes darkened as Grantaire’s lips grazed his ear “—and I beat your high score on Mario Kart.”

Mike’s expression instantly soured and he punched Grantaire none-too-gently on the arm. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Grantaire grinned wickedly. “Mmm and the possibilities involving my asshole are endless.” His grin faded. “But back to more serious business. I’m not doing anything important with my time, and honestly it’d be good to get away from Graceland for a little bit, even if I’m still supposed to be lying low.” He glanced up at Mike. “I’ll miss you, of course.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Mike said softly, reaching out to take Grantaire’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “But this would mean a lot to me, and—”

“Say no more,” Grantaire said, smiling crookedly. “Right now, you and I are going to have  _very_  vocal make up sex so that the entire house earns the dollar we’re going to have to put in the squabble jar, and then we’ll work out the details. A’ight?”

Mike laughed at Grantaire’s imitation of Johnny and nodded. “Alright.”

* * *

 

Two days later, Grantaire left, giving their housemates an excuse about being called back to DC (their housemates weren’t fully filled in on Grantaire’ status with the CIA, but they knew that he worked for the government in some capacity and was assigned to Graceland for the time being). On the first night, Mike slept soundly, excited for what Grantaire might find and dreaming of the dim memories that he had of his friends, of a sandy-haired man he recalled as Combeferre, of a warm, dark-haired man called Courfeyrac. Feuilly, dear Feuilly, who had the warmest feelings of the lot of them, and Bahorel, less a figure and more a memory of a booming laugh. Joly was like a cane and a sneeze, Bossuet laughter and cheer, and Jean Prouvaire, youngest of all, a clear, piping voice.

They weren’t full memories, not like Enjolras’s memories of Grantaire and even his memories of what happened on that barricade. They were more…snippets, pieces of memory, flashes of images and impressions. And he couldn’t wait to give them the faces that they deserved, for how important they obviously were to Enjolras.

But as the days dragged on, as Grantaire was still gone with only an occasional text to remind Mike that he was still alive, Mike realized that he missed Grantaire. He missed waking up with Grantaire in his bed, missed cooking with him in the kitchen. He missed surfing together — well, he missed surfing while Grantaire mostly watched and laughed his ass off. He missed playing football with Grantaire and Johnny and Paige out on the beach, missed Charlie’s teasing when she walked in on them making out.

He was no longer sleeping well, tossing and turning and wishing Grantaire was back. And his work began to suffer, which was the worst thing possible for Mike, who still prided himself on the work he did for the FBI, for putting bad guys behind bars. Now, he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with the cartel, his cover was harder and harder to keep in place, and stupidly enough, he just wanted to wrap himself in one of Grantaire’s hoodies and stay in bed.

A part of him desperately wanted Grantaire to find their friends, but another part of him realized that he had been an idiot. His friends were missing from Enjolras’s life, but what Mike needed more than that was Grantaire back in his. He’s had the best thing going, and he’d practically forced him out in search of something that they may never find.

So he did the only thing he could do: he called Grantaire. “Hey, it’s me,” he said when Grantaire picked up, his voice cracking as he continued, “I want you to come home.”

Grantaire was back within a day, without even asking Mike what had happened to change his mind. He let Mike grab him as soon as he came through the door and just hold him for a long moment before asking, “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, in lieu of answering directly. “I should never have sent you in search of the others.” Grantaire just stared at him questioningly, and Mike took his hand to drag him upstairs into the bedroom so the others wouldn’t overhear.

When they were alone, Mike took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already,” Grantaire said patiently. “What you didn’t say is  _why_.”

“I know, and it’s because I’ve been trying to find the right words for it.” Mike bit his lip and said carefully, “You know how hard reconciling Enjolras was for me, still  _is_  for me somedays. He and I…we’ve never been all that similar except in strength of convictions and the tendency to see things a little too black and white, as you’re so fond of pointing out.” Grantaire cracked a smile at that. “But when the possibility arose of finding Enjolras’s friends — _our_  friends — for the first time I felt like I understood Enjolras. Friends, supporters…the way Enjolras felt about Les Amis is the way I feel about Graceland. They’re my family, my friends, people I would do anything for, and suddenly, I wanted to bring that part of Enjolras together with the part of me that’s Mike Warren.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, clearly following along, though he also looked confused. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Mike took another deep breath. “For the first time, I got so caught up with being Enjolras that I forgot about being Mike. And Mike Warren, well, he’s got an amazing boyfriend who he shouldn’t take for granted.”

A sudden smile broke out across Grantaire’s face, and he said lightly, “You realize that was all a hugely convoluted way of telling me that you missed me, right?”

“Shut up,” Mike laughed, pulling Grantaire close and kissing him. When they broke apart, he added, “It was more than just missing you, though I won’t lie, that was definitely part of that. But you also came into my life for a reason, and I have to believe that if the others are meant to find us like that, they will. In the meantime—” he wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s waist and kissed him again, a slow, lingering kiss “—in the meantime, forgetting to live our life here, together, isn’t worth it. Not to Enjolras, and definitely not to me.”

Grantaire grinned and kissed Enjolras again, then pulled away a little to say lightly, “Well, that being said, I think I may have found Combeferre, but if you would rather just live our life together here…”

Mike slugged Grantaire on the shoulder and shouted, “You asshole, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

From downstairs, simultaneously, Johnny, Paige, Charlie, and Jakes all called, “Put a dollar in the jar!”

Mike let out a wounded noise and glared at the closed door as he shouted back, “Let us at least finish our fight, would you?”

He turned back to Grantaire, who was smiling a little embarrassedly, though he also looked a little guilty. “It’s going to sound stupid,” he told Mike carefully. “But Enjolras and Combeferre, well…whatever Enjolras’s latent feelings for Grantaire were, Enjolras and Combeferre were a lot closer than Enjolras and Grantaire ever were.”

Understanding dawned on Mike, and he reached for both of Grantaire’s hands. “But Enjolras died with Grantaire,” he said gently, running his thumbs over the back of Grantaire’s hands. “And I love you now in a  _much_ different way than Enjolras ever loved Combeferre. Trust me on that.” 

Grantaire smiled slightly and asked hopefully, “Do you really mean that?” In lieu of answering, Mike pulled Grantaire closer and kissed him deeply, releasing Grantaire’s hands to wrap his arms around Grantaire’s waist. “Well, in that case,” Grantaire murmured, resting his forehead against Mike’s, “if I’m right, anyway, Combeferre is teaching at Stanford. Do you want to go see him?”

“Of course,” Mike said, pushing Grantaire back towards the bed. “But first, you and I have some lost time to make up for.” He kissed Grantaire deeply before telling him, “I love you. You know that, right?”

Grantaire grinned and pulled Mike down onto the bed with him. “I do know that. And I love you, too. And I know that together, we will find the rest of our friends eventually.”

Mike hesitated for a moment, his hands toying with the edge of Grantaire’s shirt. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I believe in you,” Grantaire said simply. “Always have, always will.” He rolled them over so that he was on top and kissed Enjolras again. “And now, let’s get to the part where we make up for lost time.”


End file.
